


Anywhere But Here

by jenna_thorn



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-07-01
Updated: 2002-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 09:50:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenna_thorn/pseuds/jenna_thorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faith in prison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anywhere But Here

It was one of the dumber games Buffy and the others played, imagining themselves in exotic locales with the People coverface of the month. Faith lives in the now, and she couldn't imagine trading in the joy of the solidity of a stake driving home, the tickle of dust swirling around her for espresso on the Seine with Ben Affleck or any such idiocy. That was then.

_ The ice cream place down the street from the coffee shop that Willow liked so much. Real ice cream, not frozen yogurt, and on it, every single topping they had – marshmallows, strawberries, chocolate chips. Hell, maybe a separate bowl just for toppings and the ice cream plain, rich and smooth with the texture that the fake stuff never had. _

 

The food wasn't bad, though. Not really. The sameness was, well, monotonous. The pattern of her days. The never-ending Scrabble game in the corner. She'd learned new words from involuntary eavesdropping. Monotony was one of them. Supercilious. Some of the contested ones, she'd even learned to spell. Giles or Wesley words.

_ New Orleans, by the river. Beignets and café au lait and sitting at the Café du Monde, watching the tourists with their kneesocks and windbreakers and straw hats. _

 

Where she'd never been, not yet, but had discovered through the magazines and memories of a woman who was recently released. In for killing her husband. She talked about home a lot. And her kids. She'd wondered if they remembered her. Wondered if they care. Faith wonders why she did.

_ Steak then, in someplace famous for steak. Kansas City? A steakhouse in Kansas City with pictures of riders and ropers or whatever the jargon for cowboys was and rough hewn beams on the ceiling. A baked potato with everything. And extra butter. _

She promised herself that when she got out, she'd never eat mashed potatoes or margarine again. And she laughed even as she thought it. One of the guards, in describing her to a rookie, called her the girl with old eyes. The experience behind those eyes, for she refused to call it wisdom, even in her own head, told her that there is very little she won't do. Ever. Eat margarine, slash a throat, betray a friend. Besides, Angel ate rats. That had to be worse than potatoes from a box.

_ Someplace with no horizon. The desert, maybe, or the ocean. Antarctica with ice in all directions. Nah, that was a stupid one – burn or freeze or drown. Okay then, a park, with a dog. _

She never thought she'd miss dogs. She'd never had one, but her hands itch for fur, for a friendly paw, hell, even puppy breath. She thought of letting Buffy's hair trail through her fingers, the rough texture of Xander's hair as she pulled him back, but that led to other ideas not conducive to relaxation. Conducive. That was a triple word score. She couldn't remember who played it, but she remembered that it was extra points.

_Heading out to patrol, with the last touch of twilight still overhead, past swings empty of kids, slides still warm from the sun, the echo of laughter slowing down with the lazy turns of the merry-go-round. _

The prisons were full of people innocent in the eyes of their lawyers and their family. At least she was spared the burden of innocence. She knew what she pled guilty to. She knew why she was serving time. The fact that they were different was funny in the way that she'd learned not to express in group.

_ A club, any club, but emphatically not the Bronze. Maybe someplace in LA, music so loud she could feel it below her ribs, never leaving the dance floor, sweating so much she could slam beer after beer and not have to pee all night. _

The weightroom helped. She was in the best shape of her life, though the fact that she didn't have a sparring partner was going to cost her in timing and reaction speed eventually. She wrote letters, mailed some of them. Got letters from Angel. The prison library had more books she didn't want to read than she could have imagined, but someone had a mother who sent books. Actually, had the bookstore send them, with a form and all. Packages from people weren't allowed, but shops could send stuff and they all recognized the Half Price Books logo by now.

_ Sitting in front of a sunlit high school, with a best friend and the clueless wonder alongside, a living Watcher futsing about, dreaming of movie idols and France. _

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Cluegirl, who encouraged me to write and post fanfiction.   
> This was my first work formally shared with the fannish community.


End file.
